Devil Beside You
by LostInAWrittenWorld
Summary: 'It hadn't happened yet, but he just knew that the third time would be the worst. He knew by the way his heart felt that if he did it again, he'd die. Well, dying wasn't really an option, but this time he might not come back.' A missing shot piece that takes place in Episode 2.11, Beat the Devil. Spoilers for the episode. T to be safe.


A/N: So I was watching episode 2.11, Beat The Devil, and was so disappointed that they didn't show what happened to Cal when he was captured by Martin! I mean, I guess I understand (have to keep that rating TV-14!), so I promptly rushed to to find that they had no missing scene fics! :(  
So I wrote one instead.

Disclaimer: I don't own Lie to Me, it'd still be running.

Spoilers: Episode 2.11, Beat the Devil

* * *

"I told you Lightman," Martin flashed a grin. "I'm always five moves ahead."

Cal wasn't stupid, Martin would do his best not to kill him here, the clean up would be a bugger, but he wouldn't hesitate to if Cal didn't do exactly what he said. Cal raise his arms above his head, licking his lips.

"Let's go." Martin nodded the gun in the direction of the door. Despite the situation, despite everything, he still had that relaxed and slightly pleased with himself smile across his lips. Not a trace of worry, thought Cal, looking hard at his face before he stepped forward, his footsteps echoing gently in the oh so empty corridor.

Martin met him halfway, matching strides with the older man, but he and his gun remained a slight distance away. Wouldn't want to get so close he might try something stupid, not that Cal had any intent to, not yet at least.

"Let me." Martin said, reaching around and opening the door. Cal stepped into the cool night air and looked around. The lightposts made a path of light patches down the sidewalk, aside from the random spot of darkness right in the middle. Cal thought absently that he'd need to get the bulb replaced. Funny the things you think of.

"Don't forget to lock up. " Marin said in a friendly sort of way. "I'm sure plenty of people would love to break into your office, mustn't give them a chance."

Cal gave him a slight smile that he hoped clearly conveyed his message of "Thank you, you arrogant sod."

His keys were in his pants pocket and he reached for them, just not too fast. The slight cock of the eyebrow as the keys came free and chimed in the air read 'See? No weapon. Can't shoot me.' He clicked it in the lock, then dropped them back into his pocket.

Martin waved with the gun for him to walk forward.

There was only two cars in the dark parking lot, so it wasn't too hard to figure out which one was Martin's. The back opened with a slight hiss. It was a basic van trunk, empty of back seats and complete with tarp and shovel. Perfect setting for a trip to the woods as long as you didn't notice the silver handcuffs.

"Put them on."

Cal glanced at him. Martin's smile had changed from his normal friendly look to pleasure and the street light that fell across his face showed his dilated eyes. Lightman reached into the van, one hand on the carpet to steady himself. He could feel the sand and grit biting into his skin. The metal was cold in his grip, colder than he thought it would be. As he clicked it around his wrist, Martin spoke. "Only one. Now get in."

Cal did so, stooping to keeping from hitting his head.

"Sit"

He sat.

"Slid the other handcuff under the metal bar."

"What metal bar?"

"The one in the floor."

He looked, sure enough there was a metal bar in the floor, the kind that usually held the chairs in place, but apparently they made good restraints as well.

Lucky him.

"Now the other wrist."

Cal put his wrist in the other cuff, but couldn't seem to snap it shut.

"You know," He finally said, "This isn't actually as easy as it looks."

Martin's smile grew. He reached forward snapping the second into place.

When they finally stopped at Martin's house, Cal wondered how Martin was possibly going to explain it to his mum. 'Hi Mom, Dr. Cal and are going to go hang out in the basement. What? No, that was some other British guy.'

The door swung open and Cal walked in first. "So, where's your mum?"

"Sleeping."

"Really?"

"Yeah, she doesn't sleep well so the doctors gave her some pills. They seem to do the trick." Martin glanced up at the ceiling as he spoke. Cal glanced up as well. "I'm so glad."

Martin pulled out another key and slipped it into the lock. The door swung open and Cal could smell the damp basement cement.

He began to walk down the steps, the spacing darkel against the fading upstairs light.

It wouldn't be long before he had a hard time seeing the step in front of him, but there was a loud snap and a light above him came into being.

For the most part, it was a normal crummy basement, a bit dirty, a bit stinky, with a few random items; an ancient blue cabinet, a couple shelves filled with paint buckets, rags, water jugs and a bench press. There must have been a street light outside because the windows, painted red for privacy, seemed to glow.

There was a part of Cal, a large part of him, that was all logic and reason. That part never seemed to turn off. It raced, analyzing Martin, analyzing himself, making sure he didn't let any emotion escape.

But there, tight in his belly like a small marble rolling around in his stomach, was fear. Just a touch of it.

It grew slightly larger as he was strapped down and still more as the rough terry cloth towel was tossed across his face. But still it didn't feel real, like it was a game, a joke. Martin would look down in his eyes and laugh, make fun of him for believing him for so long. Even vulnerable as he was, tied down and blinded, still he wasn't completely afraid.

He couldn't see Martin, which he supposed was a bad thing, but that didn't really seem to worry him. Then the water hit him, the cold a sharp slap and the liquid began to fill his nose and he opened his mouth for oxygen, but there wasn't any, just the thick soaked towel and water everywhere, filling every orifice and spilling down his head.

He struggled for air, thrashing, but it did no good against his bonds and he wasn't even aware of Martin's presences anymore because there wasn't anything in his mind but his burning lungs and a desperate need of oxygen. His eye were opened wide, but there was nothing to see but the stars that began to fill his vision, first few, then many, many more, till that's all there was, a blinding light made up of hundreds of thousands of stars. That's when he knew, without a doubt, that he was going to die.

Sure hope Em will be alright.

At first it was just a feeling. Or, more exactly, the feeling of pain. Then the words came and he thought, _Stephen King was right. It is like being raped to life._

And though he could now think and breath on his own, he had no energy to escape the being that first pushed the air into his lungs, then slammed down on his chest till Call felt his ribs would break, till finally he had enough energy to pull away, coughing long and hard.

Though he continued to cough for a little while longer, he didn't throw up, which meant that Martin is good at what he does, though Cal isn't quite sure why he cares.

Martin stood over him for a while. Then, when he was satisfied that Cal wasn't going to die again and ruin all the fun, he began to walk away.

"Oye!" Cal's statement was interrupted by a coughing fit that shook deep in his chest. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Upstairs. Don't worry, I'll be back. "

Cal watched till Martin disappeared from his field of vision. The sound of his shoes tapped up the stairs, the door clicked and he was gone, off to go and catch a couple minutes of the game or fold his laundry or plan his next victim or whatever it was psychopaths normally did to waste time. Maybe he watered his plants.

Waiting for Martin gave Cal time to think. He mostly thought about Martin and what emotions he'd given away. He thought about the situation that led to this. He thought about the women Martin killed and how many more he would target. He thought about Emily and how much he loved her. Sometimes he thought about Gillian and sometimes his thoughts would stray to Zoe, but about then he'd pull his thoughts away sharply, get back to the matter at hand, even if that meant concentrating on the pain in his chest (there was definitely going to be some bruising, and it felt like one of his ribs might be cracked by the pain that coursed with every breath,) or the way the tape cut into his skin.

It seemed like hours had past by the time Martin finally came back, with that ever present smirk across his face. "Round two."

Martin dropped the towel back across Cal's face and adjusted it, making sure it covered every orifice. This time the towel was already wet and it hindered Cal's breathing even before the hose was turned on.

It was worse this time, Cal thought, because now you know just what is going to happen. And how much it's gonna hurt. The hose turned on. The fear grew wings and landed on his heart, iron claws digging into him, tightening with every heartbeat.

It was as cold as last time and as painful as he remembered. The white flashes began to appear and logical thought left his mind, leaving only feelings behind. Then he was dead.

_Probably because it felt so violating._ He thought as someone else's air filled his lungs and someone else's hands pumped his heart. The most basic and necessary of the human bodies' functions in some else's control. If he chose not to do it, Cal would die.

He once again leaned over the side, hacking and coughing,and this time he threw up, and there really wasn't anything worse than throwing up while being taped down.

Cal finally managed to catch his breath but his body still had a life of it's own, or rather, no life at all and his head lolled to the side and try as he might, he couldn't get it straight again. Not that he could try all that hard. He watched as Martin smirked and walked away holding the soiled towel. He threw it in the corner, by a pile of rags Cal hadn't noticed before, then continued his way up the stairs and out the door.

As Cal tried to get his focus back, he thought that he was wrong, the third time was so much worse. Once all the adrenalin was gone, all the was left was a broken body. It hadn't happened yet, but he just knew that the third time would be the worst. He knew by the way his heart felt that if he did it again, he'd die.

Well, dying wasn't really an option, but this time he might not come back.

And wouldn't that be nicer? Whispered a treacherous little voice in his head. All this coming and going was so... tiring... Wouldn't it be easier to just... not? He jerked his head sharply to the side, physically shaking the thought from his head. The situations he'd made it through and now it was this punk who broke Cal Lightman? Not on your bloody life!

Anger was good, made the adrenaline flow. He concentrated his mind on Martin's face, that stupid, stupid mask he always wore. He thought he'd won, didn't he? He thought he'd won! Well, he hadn't. Cal imagined the look of fear and horror he'd finally see on that stupid boy's face when he realized he hadn't won, that he'd lost.

The sound of the door and footsteps on the stairs interrupted his thoughts and the fear renewed. He was still mad, still angry. Martin leaned into his vision. And still scared.

"Time to die again." Martin said as he dropped the new cloth onto Cal's face. The hose clicked on again and the fabric grew dark as the cold water splashed and he was scared, so scared, and so angry in his fear, a wild animal backed into a corner. Injured and ready to lash out in his pain, if he only could break through these restraints. Painful, and scary and oh, so scared. This time Cal died with Martin's name and a curse upon his lips.

_And really, there was just something violating about somebody being that close to you, especially if he was a serial killer._ Once more his heart and lungs took over. Once more he coughed and gagged, but this time he didn't throw up. Once more he wanted to pass out from exhaustion. But this time Martin cut the duct tape off Cal's ankles, then his hands. He pulled Cal to his feet and Cal wanted to fight him, to lay down for just a little bit longer, but he was insistent, pulling him into a standing position. When Cal was finally standing, he tried to wave Marin off, the gesturing hand less of a "No no, I can do this" and more of a "Get the hell away from me." but Marin persisted, throwing one of Cal's arms over his shoulder, half dragging, half carrying him up the stairs. The car was the same story as before, handcuffed to the floor.

This time, instead of a nice typical suburban house, they stopped in a forest. By now Cal had gotten most of his energy back and it was all directed at that stupid child, that stupid son-of-a-bitch sitting in the front. He seethed and wondered what it would be like to half drown him, to smash him over the head with a shovel and bury him in the woods. Bet he wouldn't like it nearly as much if he were on the receiving end.

Martin tossed him the key and he unlocked himself, rubbing his wrist where the metal had scraped.  
"Grab the shovel on your way out."

Cal did so, but Martin must have seen the glint in his eye because was he was commanded to drop it as soon as his feet touched the ground. The shovel clattered on the ground and Martin grinned.

"Actually, you look like you're doing pretty well. How about you dig this time, Doctor Lightman?"

Cal flashed a grin vaguely reminiscent of a jackal's."Nothing better than digging my own grave."


End file.
